


Slither over (home to you)

by wingedspirit



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Good Omens: Lockdown, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedspirit/pseuds/wingedspirit
Summary: A follow up to theGood Omens: Lockdownvideo, because I couldn't not. I'm soft.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 286
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	Slither over (home to you)

“Good night, angel.” Without waiting for a response, Crowley hangs up and sighs. He should’ve known not to offer; should’ve known it’d be too much. _Slither over and watch you eat cake_ , really, could he have _possibly_ been more obvious — of course Aziraphale had gotten flustered. Of course Aziraphale would see that as an intrusion.

But —

But Aziraphale had sounded — lonely, almost. Talking so brightly about all the baking he was doing, and how he’d sent his would-be burglars home with cake, and — and if someone had told Crowley yesterday that today he would be sitting on his bed, scowling and burning with jealousy because of _burglars_ , for crying out loud, he’d have laughed in their face.

But Aziraphale had sounded lonely. And Aziraphale _had_ said, hadn’t he, that it would be acceptable for a demon to disobey the lockdown rules. Of course Crowley wouldn’t do that, he’d told Aziraphale as much, people are already way too miserable and besides he’s _retired_ , he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do, but —

But Aziraphale had sounded _lonely_. And that sounds like a perfectly valid reason to break the rules, as far as Crowley’s concerned.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he snaps his fingers once to get dressed in something that isn’t pyjamas, then again to bring a case of the best wine he owns within reach; and then he calls Aziraphale back.

Aziraphale picks up on the first ring, sounding almost breathless. “Yes?”

And Crowley dives through the phone line.

He tumbles out into the bookshop a moment later. The case of wine hits the floor with a thud, but he lands onto — something soft. Soft, and angelic, and familiar.

Aziraphale is staring up at him from the floor, eyes wide. “Crowley?”

Crowley jerks back, flustered. “I — uh — mnrghjkh — sorry. I should’ve — I’ll just. Uh.” He scrambles up to a crouch, overcompensates and falls flat on his arse. “Sorry.”

“You might’ve warned me you were going to do that,” Aziraphale says, pulling himself up to a sitting position. “I thought you were going to take a nap.”

“I, uh. Yeah. Changed my mind,” Crowley mumbles, looking away, painfully aware he’s not wearing his sunglasses. “Never been much for following rules. You know. Demon, and all that. I wanted —” He wanted to be here. He hadn’t wanted Aziraphale to say no again. They’re free, and if there are no stupid heavenly or hellish rules keeping them apart anymore, stupid human rules shouldn’t be able to do that, either. But he doesn’t think he’s quite ready to just say that. “Uh. I just thought — I brought wine? Should go nicely with the cakes you mentioned.”

Aziraphale just looks at him, steadily, eyes still wide; and says nothing more.

Crowley flinches. “Right. Sorry. I’ll just — go. Get out of your hair. Leave you to your books. You can just — keep the wine.” He clambers to his feet and turns to the desk. The phone receiver is dangling off of it from its cord; the line is still open. He’ll just go back through the phone to his flat, and take that nap, and forget all about this.

“My dear,” Aziraphale says, softly; and snaps his fingers. The phone hangs itself up. “Stay.”

“No need to inconvenience yourself on my account, angel,” Crowley manages. He doesn’t need to breathe, but he still feels like he’s drowning. “I’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale wraps his arms around Crowley from behind. “ _Stay_ , Crowley. I want you to stay.”

“But you said —” _Out of the question_ , he’d said. _I’ll see you when this is over._

“I know. I panicked.” Aziraphale sighs. “I called to invite you over, and then I panicked. It’s been — lonely, without you around. I’ve missed you.”

“Really?”

“Really. I — oh, would you look at me? I can’t say this to your back.” Aziraphale unwinds his arms from Crowley’s waist and tugs at his side, gently.

Helplessly, Crowley turns.

Aziraphale is smiling at him, soft and warm. “There you are.”

Crowley still feels like he can’t breathe, but for an entirely different reason, now. “Aziraphale.”

“I want you to stay,” Aziraphale repeats, firmly. “I always want you to stay. I should’ve said this to you months ago. A year ago, when Armageddon didn’t happen. But I didn’t know — if that was what you wanted. So I just waited, and hoped you would say something. Seeing you almost every day was enough. But now…”

“I was hoping _you_ would say something,” Crowley says, half-choked. “Didn’t want to go too fast. And I got to see you almost every day, anyway.”

Aziraphale hums, and pulls him close. “Will you? Stay?”

“Always,” Crowley blurts out, dazed. “I mean — as long as you want me.”

“Always,” Aziraphale says; and pulls Crowley into a kiss. Crowley stiffens in surprise, and Aziraphale pulls back immediately. “I’m sorry, my dear, did you not —”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Crowley grits out, and reels Aziraphale back in.

They make it to the sofa, somehow; and the bookshop is quiet, for a while.

Then, there is wine, and cake, and conversation. There is a small impromptu picnic under the oculus in the centre of the bookshop, with sandwiches made with the bread Aziraphale baked; there is more talking, and more kissing.

And then, as the days stretch on, there is quiet, careful planning.

There will be, when this is all over, a cottage on gently rolling green hills, waiting for them.


End file.
